


Little Whore

by Magz (sparklepocalypse)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fuck Or Die, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4527981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklepocalypse/pseuds/Magz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Written prior to book 6.</i> It's nearly three years into the Second War and Harry's going mad with not being allowed to <i>do</i> something.  Then he receives instructions to report to tent 31B in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Whore

**Author's Note:**

> For her birthday, [](http://marishna.livejournal.com/profile)[marishna](http://marishna.livejournal.com/) requested Harry/Snape smut. I had never written Harry/Snape _anything_ , much less smut. The plot got a little out of hand, and this is the result. Thanks very much to [](http://kantayra.livejournal.com/profile)[kantayra](http://kantayra.livejournal.com/), who did a fabulous job betaing this so quickly. Please note that this was written before I read _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_.

It was three weeks into the Battle for the Highlands and two years and eight months into the Second War that Harry received instruction to report to tent 31B the next morning at dawn. The reason for this, the message read, would be explained to him upon arrival.

The Order wasn't allowing Harry to fight, instead keeping him inside a highly-warded sector of the encampment until such a time came as he showed he was ready to fight, and defeat Voldemort. He stayed in his long tent, practicing spells and hexes until he slumped with exhaustion. Food was delivered to him three times daily by overenthusiastic house elves, but he rarely ate more than a third of what was brought. It wasn't that he was starving himself -- it was that the elves heaped mountains of food onto his tray, as if meals were tokens of their adoration.

Three weeks of self-taught training had taken their toll on Harry. Visitors were almost always ignored in favor of perfecting a spell or curse. As a result, loneliness had set in. He ignored it most of the time, but there were moments when he'd have done anything for a bit of conversation, a pat on the back, or even just a reassuring smile.  
  
Crumpling the bit of parchment which held his instructions, Harry felt something give inside him, like a sigh. Finally, he'd be allowed to do something besides wearing himself weary with spells. He was so exhausted from the day's training that he went to sleep without ever once wondering what.

 

Harry pulled back the flap of tent 31B just as the sun was peering above the horizon the next day. The air was thicker here than in his own tent, smelling of herbs and wet earth, a combination which inexplicably made him more alert. There was a canvas barrier dividing the tent neatly in half, and curiously, Harry pushed it aside and walked through the gap.  
  
Professor Snape was standing with his back to Harry, looking over some objects on a long table before him. Harry's brow furrowed as he wondered what the professor was examining.

"Duck," Snape said flatly, and then he spun around.  
  
Eyes widening as a knife, thrown by Snape, turned point over hilt as it arced toward him, Harry flung himself to the ground and glanced up as the blade embedded itself in a long board that had been stood up against the tent wall behind him. He blinked up at the vibrating blade, then stared at Snape. "Are you mad? That could've killed me!"

"I know," Snape replied. He looked down at Harry like he was something distasteful he'd just stepped in. Harry knew the look was mostly for show -- he and Snape had, over the past few years, been flung into tense situations rather often, and had survived to tell the tale. In fact, their next card game was scheduled for next week.

"Do get up, Potter. Aurors Shacklebolt and Tonks have informed me that you are ready for the next step in your training -- first aid. Hexes, after all, are not the only things thrown on a battlefield." He glanced at the knife, then back at Harry. "I am to teach you to create poultices, clotting agents, antidotes, and salves from things found in the countryside, without the use of magic."

"You realize that I've never really retained things you attempted to teach me," Harry said slowly.

Snape raised an eyebrow, looking at him calculatingly. "Where do you find a bezoar?"

"In the stomach of a goat," Harry said automatically, then frowned. "That's hardly fair. You humiliated me into remembering that, you know."

"Then I'll have to use that tactic more often, hadn't I?" Snape asked dryly. "Do you wish to continue your lesson sitting on the floor, Potter? Get up."

Harry climbed to his feet, again looking at the hilt of the knife embedded in the board behind him. "If they're not magical mixtures, how will I know I've done it right?" he asked.

"I said _without the use of magic_ , Potter. Not that the plants, themselves, are without magic." Snape handed Harry a sack filled with little packets and jars. "This kit is your responsibility. Do not ask me to refill the containers; I will not do it. Between these lessons and what Professor Sprout taught you, you will be able to identify and retrieve all necessary items to restock your ingredients."

Harry peered inside the sack. There was a lot in there.

Snape placed a Muggle Tupperware container next to a large, flat rock on his side of the table. "Today you'll need the jar of bubotuber pus, the envelope of dried mugwort, and the pouch of dandelion seeds. With these ingredients, by the end of this lesson I will have made a rather effective poison that affects the body exactly like botulism. You, however, will probably have made a rank sludge which will no doubt eat through the bottom of your cauldron." He set a smaller rock atop the flat one. "Your other supplies are underneath the table. Get to work."

 

Harry eyed his mixture. It looked about the same color as Snape's, but it was a little on the _lumpy_ side. He hoped that Snape wouldn't make him test it on himself.

He winced when Snape set down his container and looked critically at Harry's concoction. "What," he asked, "is that?"

"Poison, sir?" Harry said, and crossed his fingers.

"That's an utter failure of a potion, Potter." Snape crossed the room to his more elaborate lab station, retrieved a stirring rod, and prodded the gluey mixture in Harry's container. The potion appeared to ooze away from the rod, towards the sides of its enclosure. "And it's got a mind of its own." He picked up his own container and pressed it into Harry's hand. "Drink it. You will receive an antidote."

"You think I'm going to drink poison," Harry said flatly.

"I know you will," Snape replied. "I believe you may actually learn something if given the proper... incentive."

Harry tipped the container back and drank its contents, then wiped his mouth.

"You have two hours until the poison's effects begin to show themselves in your body. Within forty-eight hours, you will be either bedridden or dead."

"You said you'd give me an antidote!" Harry accused.

"I said you'd receive an antidote, not that I'd be the person to give you one. You are far too trusting, Potter." Snape waved his wand over Harry's potion, vanishing it.

"If I die," Harry said, "then Voldemort wins." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yes, I know," Snape said. "Which is why am now telling you that the antidote is something that all life depends on to flourish." He tapped his wand against the flat rocks and they shrank to the size of marbles. "You'd best start looking for an antidote."

 

Nine hours later, looking a bit green about the gills -- figurative gills only, of course, as he hadn't ingested any other plant matter since Snape's potion -- Harry burst triumphantly back into tent 31B.

"I see your Muggle relatives never bothered to instruct you that it's polite to knock," Snape murmured. He looked up as Harry approached, then returned to the book he was reading.

"On canvas?" Harry asked.

"Quite. Have you come to a conclusion?" Snape momentarily set the book aside.

"It's sex," Harry declared, smugly, and smirked at Snape. Obviously, Snape hadn't believed he could discover the antidote.

Snape met Harry's gaze and looked at him steadily.

"Or... water," Harry amended.

"Perhaps you'd better decide which, Potter," Snape said. "After all, one will cause the poison to spread more rapidly throughout your body, and the other will nullify its effects."

"I know which I _want_ it to be," Harry said. "Water, obviously. After all, who am I going to have sex with _here_? Mad-Eye Moody?" He paused to shudder in disgust, and continued. "But what if I can't decide which it is? It'd be awfully odd of me to ask someone if they'd mind if I took water breaks during sex."

"However, if you expired, it'd be significantly more odd than if you paused to quench your thirst." Snape picked up his book again.

"So which is it? Water or sex?" Harry asked.

"I suggest that you experiment with your options, Potter. Come back when you've got a more definite answer."

"But -- "

"Out."

 

A half-hour later Harry was back in 31B again, slightly out of breath. His hair was wet. "I don't recommend tossing off in the shower while you're trying to drink the water coming down at you," he said, and plopped down in a wing-backed chair that hadn't been there before. "I nearly drowned when I turned on the faucet and realized someone had charmed the water pressure to make it feel like you're standing under Victoria Falls."

"Feeling better?" Snape asked from a second, identical chair, in a tone that made Harry quite aware that he didn't care one way or the other.

"Yes, thanks," Harry said cheerfully. "Only problem is, I'm not sure whether it was the orgasm or the liter of water in my lungs that slowed the poison."

"I see," Snape said.

"So I've volunteered you to help me experiment with the next stage of antidote testing." Harry bit his tongue to keep from snickering as Snape's cheeks flushed when confusion and irritation flashed across his countenance.

"I -- never in all my _life_!" Snape exclaimed.

"Yes," Harry said. "I figured. I'll be gentle."

"Potter!" Snape shouted. " _I_ am not your antidote!" He got up in a swirl of black robes and stalked over to Harry. "I have never, nor will I ever, dally with a _student_. Furthermore, as for your 'being gentle', I'll have you know that I do _not_ bottom."

"So you _do_ have sex with blokes, then." Harry grinned. "Perfect. Would you like me to bend over, or do you prefer your shags with their legs in the air? Bearing in mind, of course, that I'm your _former_ student."

"Get _out_!" Snape hissed.

"No can do," Harry replied. "See, someone poisoned me, and I've just discovered that the cure is to be shagged rotten. What's your stance on foreplay?" He stood up.

Snape took a large step backwards.

Harry dropped his trousers, then his pants, and turned around. He grabbed the back of the wing-backed chair, and spread his legs. Then he _wiggled_.

Snape gawked.

"Come on. I've only got thirty-eight hours to live." Harry extended his hand. "Accio wand," he muttered. He looked over his shoulder at Snape, who was still standing stock-still and shellshocked. "I know it's a nice arse, but really, you'll have time to stare at it later. Let's do the saving-my-life bit first." He dropped his wand on the seat of the chair and pulled his shirt over his head.

"Potter, I can make a potion that will neutralize the potion's effects," he blurted. "You do not have to... demean yourself in this way."

"But by the time it's done I'll have puked myself into a coma," Harry said. "This saves time. It's either you or Hagrid, and I intend on being able to walk tomorrow, so it's down to you, really." He brought one knee up to rest on an arm of the chair, then plucked up his wand and reached behind himself, aiming blindly. " _Lubricus rectus_ ," he said casually. "By the way, very thoughtful of you to be concerned with whether or not I'm demeaning myself."

"Clearly you've cast that before."

"More than once. Now drop your trousers."

"This is hardly appropriate, Potter. I insist that you put your clothing back on." Snape took another step back.

"I'm all lubed up and raring to go and you want me to dress?" Harry's shoulders slumped. "What am I going to do, then? I don't want to die."

"Ah," murmured Snape. "From behind all the bravado and excessive nudity, the little boy emerges."

Harry shot a glare over his shoulder. "I'm hardly a boy," he grumbled. "Self-preservation has been forced upon me by a psychotic Dark Lord, that's all."

"Self-preservation indeed. I suppose it must be difficult to reconcile that with your exaggerated Gryffindorishness," Snape sneered.

"Look, if my former House is the problem -- "

"You have other options," Snape said. "Other m -- people."

"Who, Flitwick? Or maybe you meant Hagrid. Or Dumbledore, perhaps. Despite your lack of good hair-care products and your less than sunny disposition, you're the best option I've got. Now would you please come over here before I do something drastic?"

"Drastic?" Snape asked. "What ever could you do that would be drastic?"

"I could... hold you down and rape you," Harry suggested.

Snape laughed until his eyes watered. It was so sudden and so unlike Snape that Harry froze for a moment in surprise.

"What?" Harry asked, offended. "I could. Quidditch makes you tough, you know."

"Potter," Snape snickered. "You are a Seeker. As such, I doubt you weigh even ten stone. How, exactly, had you anticipated being able to pin me down?"

"Stunning spell," Harry muttered sullenly. "Look, are you going to have at me or not? If I have to Apparate to someplace seedy to find a prostitute, I'm going to need to do it before I'm too weak."

Snape looked at Harry for a full minute, completely silent, before Harry began to fidget. Then, his hands moving in even, precise motions over many buttons, he removed his robe and waistcoat. "You will never speak of this," he said evenly, "not even to me. If you do, I assure you that you will know nothing but the deepest regret." He unfastened the button at his shirt collar and those at his cuffs, but left the garment otherwise untouched.

"So, you're actually going to..." Harry looked down as Snape unbuttoned his trousers and his prick, unfettered by underclothes, sprang free. "Gah," Harry said succinctly.

"Yes, quite," Snape replied, the corners of his mouth twitching as he suppressed a smirk. "Do you require any further preparation?"

" _Require_? Not really. But I appreciate a good, thorough fingering as much as the next bloke." He hoped that Snape would get the message -- after all, Harry was pretty sure he was supposed to get off in order to neutralize the potion. Then he felt the gentle nudge of fingertips against his arse and closed his eyes.

"Move your leg a bit," Snape said, and nudged the foot Harry had planted on the floor with his shoe.

Harry adjusted his stance and Snape's finger slipped between his cheeks and rubbed over his moistened hole. "Mmnh," Harry breathed, then tensed and glanced over his shoulder at Snape. "Sorry."

"I am not some wilting flower, Potter. I assure you, nothing you vocalize could cause me to suddenly shy away and send you to your doom." He twisted his wrist and pushed the tip of his middle finger up and in. "And your derrière is... adequate," he added as an afterthought. "Hardly as exquisite as some, of course, but it'll do."

"Or be done," Harry muttered. He leaned over a bit and pressed steadily back against Snape's hand, drawing the finger in farther. "You don't have to be so gentle, you know," he said.

"I realize," Snape replied, "that you've done this before. However, you have not with me, so stop _squirming_ ," he took hold of Harry's hip with his free hand, "and allow me to go at my own pace." He delicately rubbed the softly-stretched flesh around his digit with the tip of his index finger, and when Harry huffed out another soft moan, pushed the second finger inside.

Harry scowled and rocked his hips forward. "Bend your fin -- _oh_ ," he gasped. "Again." He shifted restlessly. One of his hands cupped around his rapidly-hardening dick while the other drifted up his torso, feathering over each of his nipples in turn.

Snape released Harry's hip and placed his hand in the middle of his back, pressing down. He withdrew his fingers and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, absently cleaning the lubricant from them as he gazed down at the picture Harry presented. His legs were spread, one raised high over the arm of the wing-backed chair, and his lean back was beginning to glisten with sweat. Down lower, between two pert, firm mounds of flesh Snape caught a glimpse of Harry's wrinkled, loosened hole, which clenched and released as he breathed. When Harry shifted forward, his plump bollocks came into full view between his legs.

"Lovely," Snape murmured, and reached down to pump his throbbing cock, then moved forward until the head of it was pressed flush against Harry's hole.

"I've been promoted from 'adequate', then?" Harry inquired. He fumbled for his wand and aimed it behind his back, renewing the lubrication charm on himself. "I never, ever thought I'd say this to _you_ , but I want you inside me, horrifyingly enough."

"Ignoring the fact that our usual level of camaraderie has yet to evolve beyond tolerance, I find being inside you to be an acceptable suggestion, Potter." Snape pushed forward and gritted his teeth as he watched tender flesh stretch to accommodate his cock. With the tip inside, he leaned forward until his mouth was directly next to Harry's ear. "Point," he said, and pressed further inside, "to Gryffindor."

Harry gasped and shoved his arse back against Snape until it was cradled by Snape's hips. "I think," he replied, wrapping his fingers firmly around his now softly-throbbing prick, "that I'll keep the secret of how to get House points out of you, as just that. A secret. _Move_ , dammit."

"See that you do, Potter." Snape pulled back slightly, then rocked his hips back toward Harry's arse. He rested his hands on Harry's hips, thumbs circling on the upper crests of his cheeks.

The next time Snape withdrew, Harry pulled up on his cock, then dragged his loose fist back down to the base as Snape thrust in. He pushed back into the thrust and moaned when the flared head of Snape's dick bumped over his prostate. Still, they remained pressed together back to chest. Harry arched his neck and turned his head so his lips barely grazed Snape's normally sallow cheek which now bore a faint flush, and demanded, "Fuck me hard."

Snape's grip tightened on Harry's hips and he pulled Harry back against him on the next thrust, grunting softly at the satisfying slap of flesh on flesh that resulted. "Hard enough?" he asked, and repeated the motion, then hissed in response to Harry's soft, choked moan.

"Hard as you can," Harry muttered. He gripped the back of the chair until his knuckles whitened and pushed back into Snape's jarring thrusts. With each stroke, Harry's body jerked forward slightly, only to be pulled back as Snape withdrew. He started jerking off in earnest, short grunts forcing their way past his lips under the dual onslaught of sensation from his cock in his fist and Snape's cock in his arse.

"You're a slut for this," Snape rasped. He leaned back to watch as his dick disappeared inside Harry with every snap of his hips, noting with almost an artist's appreciation of how the little ring of muscle clenched around his shaft was becoming swollen and pinkening. "And as much as you love it..." he thrust faster now, and felt Harry tremble around him, "... your arse loves it even more."

Harry flushed with humiliation and heightened arousal. He moaned in denial, shaking his head.

Snape huffed out a laugh. "Oh yes, Potter. Your arse was made to be filled."

"N-nnooo," Harry groaned. But his body betrayed him as he pushed more urgently back against Snape, as his hand's rhythm increased on his prick, as his thighs twitched and his fingers trembled, and ragged moans burst forth from as deep inside him as Snape was.

"Yes," Snape murmured in an almost soothing fashion, the fingers of one hand twisting through Harry's hair. "You realize it now. The way your body vibrates when it's touched. It's begging for it, even when your voice does not. You _long_ to be defiled." He pulled Harry's head back by his hair, biting down on the tender lobe of an ear presented to him. "Hard as I can, little whore," Snape whispered.

It was too much. With a choked cry, Harry stiffened and came, covering his hand with jism. Breathing hard, he slouched forward against the back of the chair. His face pressed to the rough paisley fabric, Harry felt Snape pressing up on his belly, and bowed his back, moaning as Snape completely withdrew from his sensitive hole. He heard the wet sound of hand on cock, and moments later, heard Snape grunt, and felt a spattering of hot come on his lower back and the curve of his arse.

Snape sank into the other chair opposite Harry. "Congratulations, Potter," he said as he tucked himself away and zipped up his trousers. "You've just exacerbated the potion's effects."

The words were like ice down Harry's sweaty back. With trembling hands, he gripped the arms of the chair and turned himself over. "What?" he asked quietly.

"You made an educated decision. Unfortunately it was the incorrect one. There's a jug of water on the table. Drink three full glasses and you'll be cured."

Harry felt sick. He wasn't sure whether it was the poison or that he'd just allowed Snape to fuck him that was bothering him most, but he knew it was some of each. Gingerly, he stood and walked over to the table.

Snape gave him one last appraising glance-over, then retrieved his book, and continued where he'd left off. "And clean yourself up."  



End file.
